


New Job

by tyomawrites



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 16:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites





	New Job

You’re new in town. It’s obvious enough as you entered the pub when you saw the sign claiming new employees were needed. Getting the job was easy enough, when you thought about it. Be friendly, be polite, be able to hold your own, and serve the customers. Shouldn’t be too hard. It didn’t take you long to get your first shift, that night itself you were dressed in a neat blouse, and a short skirt that fell to just above your knees. 

It doesn’t take long for the pub to fill up, it gets loud, and busy, very busy. People coming and going, some stopping to chat you up, others simply making conversation about the weather. It doesn’t faze you, most these conversations, they make time running up and down the length of the bar much more bearable. Conversations start and end, as the night grows longer, the atmosphere of the bar changes. The air gets filled with drunken laughter, the lighting switches to a more dim lighting, and in swaggers the most confident man you’d probably have ever seen in your life.

You don’t know how to describe him, but what catches your attention is the well trimmed beard, his hair, shaved at the sides, in a pseudo mohawk, is much more attractive than you think it should be. He gives the room a grin, obviously acting like a regular. His blue button up hugged his arms and chest as he swaggered up to the bar, giving you a cheeky grin.

“Well hello darlin’ didn’t realize we had some new ladies in town.” He drawls, crossing his arms on the bar top and leaning in to wink at you. His eyes twinkling under the lights. A hint of gold glitters between his teeth and his smile widens as he leans over the wooden bar top, getting a good look at you.

You try to reply, to get out the usual “What would you like for tonight?” The same thing you’ve been saying for the past four hours of your shift, but all that comes out is a slight “uh…” and a stutter that leaves your cheeks glowing red and a chuckle escaping his lips.

“S-sorry,” You stuttered, your cheeks burning as you glanced away for a second to collect yourself. “What can I get you?” 

“Now I’ll tell you what hun, I’ll show you a magic trick just ta calm your nerves, then ya can grab me a pint aight?” He rambled on instead of answering your question, pulling a coin from what seemed like thin air. He continued to do so as you stared in awe, pulling one from his sleeve, his pocket, behind his ear, his hair, even producing one as he stuck his tongue out playfully. With each one, your grin, and his grew wider, friendlier. When he set the last, what you thought was the last coin down, he leaned on his elbow to catch your gaze and grinned.

“Cat got yer tongue hun?” He queried. A part of you wished you could get your head out of the clouds and shut him up, still in awe that he’d managed to practically ‘conjure’ up this many coins without letting the trick slip.

“Uh… Right. What can I get you tonight? Sorry.” You asked again, apologizing even though you probably didn’t have too.

“Well sweetheart, I’d like a pint of whiskey and maybe your phone number to go along with it.” He raised an eyebrow as your jaw slightly dropped, your lips parting in surprise before your blush brightened your cheeks at full force. You fumbled with the cloth in your hands and nodded, more for your sake than his, and you turned around for a glass and the bottle of whiskey from beneath the bar. 

As you poured the pint, you let your gaze just rest on him, taking in the sharp cut pattern in his hair, the gleam in his eyes that intensified with the lighting. You slid the glass over to him, giving him a soft smile. 

He lifted it gratefully, taking his first sip. “I suppose I’ll have to come by at the end of your shift for your number then?”

He was gone before you could nod, his body disappearing among the crowd of people, you’d figure you wouldn’t see him for the rest of the night.

An hour after you had been sure you had met possibly the man of your dreams, the middle of the pub had cleared. A loud accented voice shouting, almost rattling you at how aggressive it sounded. Familiar red hair moved away from the crowd, there he was, stripping off his button up down to suspenders and a white tank top, his arms bulging at his sides as he stared down a dark skinned man, about maybe six inches shorter than him.

While the switch from pure charm to raw aggression initially scared you, you couldn’t help but leaning against to watch closer as they began to throw punches, flinching when they connected with each other. It didn’t take too long, the fight pretty much over in minutes, leaving the red headed charmer with a bloody mouth, a bruised eye and blood matted beard. You went around the bar to help him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he steadied himself against the barstool.

“Are you okay?” You ask, gently, not wanting to aggravate him. He turns his head to look at you, eyes a narrow slit. As he recognizes you, they soften and he gives you a bloody grin, a low rumble emanating from his chest, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“Ya ain’t seen nothin’ I can take sweetheart.” He leans in to peck your cheek, uncaring of the slight blood smear he leaves. “I’ll see ya after your shift.”   


Your blush has come back full force, as he pulls himself up and disappears, probably to the restroom to get cleaned up. A patron hands you a napkin, and gestures to your cheek. Your face burns and you wipe at the blood you know is smeared across your cheek and jaw. 

3 AM comes and it’s the first time you’re locking up. The cold air bites at your lips as you tug your coat around you with one hand, the other fiddling with the key in the lock on the grill doors.

You hear chatter to your right, but you pay no bother to it, the cold isn’t something you enjoy, and neither is walking home alone. You pull the key away as it locks, stuffing it deep into your coat pocket, before lifting your head and turning to begin the trek home. The wind blows past your face and the chatter becomes more distinct, as if it was getting closer.

You chew on your bottom lip, flinching at the sting of your teeth against numb skin, you duck your head and keep your gaze half on the floor on in front of you, watching your step, when you hear the chatter practically behind you. You slow, and the footsteps behind you do the same, the chatter ceases. You turn around, ready to tell someone to piss right off, and you catch a view of a trio of men, all stocky and beefy, looking piss drunk, their faces half hidden by shadows.

“There we are boys, darlin’s noticed and turned around.” One man slurs, stepping forward, his pals, the other two following his steps. You frown and take a step back in return.

“Fuck right off!” You spit, your hands clenched into fists, eyes glaring at them. “What are you doin’ following me?” 

They chuckle, disregarding your question. The other two split away from the first man and you realize they’re looking to surround you. Any other night, you’d reckon you’d be able to at least take one of them, maybe just by kicking them in the balls and in the pelvis, but with three. Your best idea would be to try and run. You look around, trying to find a way to escape, but they close in quickly, backing you against the wall. Alcohol’s thick on their breath. You press yourself back as far as you can against the bricks, shoving off their grubby, wandering hands. 

Just as they get more grabbier, a loud shout catches their attention. Familiar red hair catches under the streetlight and you let out a sigh of a relief, With them distracted, you shove your way between them to make an escape towards him, your ‘Prince Charming’. He grabbed you gently, pulling you behind him, standing almost menacingly in front of you, his teeth, less bloodier than they were back at the bar.

“And what do you lads think you’re doin’ to a vulnerable lady at this time of night?” He growls, his accent think, his voice rumbling deep. He takes a step forward as one of the men do. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“Do what’cha want with the girl, she ain’t our type anyway Sweeney.” The leader growls, before spitting into the gutter.

“It’s Mad, Mad Sweeney to you lads. And I see ya come near tha’ lass again and I’ll kick yer arses myself.” You’re practically clinging to his arm, with one hand, the other clenched in his blue button up, twisting the the fabric between your fingers. As the trio stalk off like a pack of cats, your saviour- Mad Sweeney- turns around to look down at you. Standing outside now, you never realized how tall he was when you both were back in that bar. You chewed on your bottom lip and his expression softened, his lips turning upwards in a smile.

“I’m sorry ya had to go through that lass.” He cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing over it gently. You give him a soft smile back, your hand coming up to lay on his.

“Thank you.” You say, your voice is soft, but it sounds like speakers in the empty streets.

“It was my pleasure darlin’.” He lifts his eyes to the streetlights, and they highlight just how beautiful his eyes are, melted chocolate, or a swirl of caramel in coffee. He looks back down at you. “I’ll let’cha get back on yer way then.” He drops his hand, and steps out of your way. You hesitate, looking back at him.

“Maybe… it’d be better if you walked me home?” You give him a coy smile, red blushing cheeks under the guise of being cold.

He breaks out into a grin, holding his hand out for you. “Well, I didn’t get yer number back before your shift was done.” He said teasingly, before closing his fingers around your hand gently, pulling you to his side. You lead the way to your apartment, fiddling with the key with cold hands. He takes it from you, unlocking the door and handing it back, letting you invite him in away from the cold. As you hit the switch, in the lights, you can see the flush in his cheeks as he towers over you. He’s taller than you, could definitely lift you with one hand if he wanted too. You keep your eyes on his, and they have a glittering gleam to them that fascinates you. He smiles, and you smile back, he takes the blue button up off, and leaves his second shirt and tank top on. 

The blue shirt ends up thrown over the back of the couch, your back pressed against the cushions with a 6’4 mass of muscle and charm gently mouthing at your jaw and throat. You scratch at his back, pulling up his tank top, tugging at those suspenders that highlight his chest and arms.

God aren’t you glad you got that new job.


End file.
